Tom Smiled
by jadoremwpp
Summary: Young Tom Riddle isn't the scary, redeyed monster we know. He's charming and attractive and he knows it. This is Tom, working at Borgin and Burkes. A glimse of who he was.


Tom smiled.

"Hello, miss, how can I help you?"

The young girl swivelled round; her light blue sundress doing tango with her legs as her dark head of hair caressed her neck.

"Oh," she said, looking the young man over, a feminine grin growing as she appraised him, liking what she saw, "I'm looking for a present, for my father. He's into rare objects, loves this shop."

Tom's dark eyes bore into her, intense and mysterious. Her tongue unconsciously darted out for a second, wetting her crimson lips. She was interested, definitely interested. But then, thought Tom, so were most women. He was fatally attractive, his features were classic and his posture told of confidence and something sinister yet sexy. Women imagined him in leather, backing them roughly against a wall. His eyes told of passion, passion for power, and they mistook it as ardour for them.

He ran his hand through his hair, messing it up the way the young girls liked it and drew on his most charming smile.

Personally, he preferred smirking. He'd always found smiles too open; to genuinely smile you had to let go completely, throw emotion into it and forget your inhibitions. For a Slytherin who prided himself on his blank, unreadable visage, this was difficult and dangerous. Smirking was safe, sarcastic and slightly spiteful. Smirking was natural.

"I'm sure we have plenty to interest you, or more importantly him." The girl giggled, looking up at him through dark eyelashes. "Is there any particular area he's interested in?"

The girl moved closer, keeping her eyes on him, gauging his reactions. Tom obliged, his eyes flicking to her chest and, as she purposefully and slowly turned, her backside. He called upon his magic to give him a hint of blush, and looked down in a nervous fashion. The girl flicked her hair over her shoulder and finally came to a standstill, teasing the edges of his personal space.

"Oh god, he prattles on about all kinds of junk, the old fart. Um, he has a lot of classical pieces, likes darker stuff, if you get my drift. Tell you the truth, I'm just hoping to get something that looks expensive but isn't and get out. There's a sale at that new robe shop and I'm dying for some dress robes, " she said confidently, leaning closer and letting Tom catch her scent.

Tom chose this moment to look up through his hair, catching her brown eyes before she could continue. He could see her breath catch in her throat, see her freeze all over. He had that effect on people, and, more importantly, he knew how to use it.

She let out a little sigh, barely audible. She was a fool, Tom thought, a shallow fool. But fools, Tom knew, had their uses.

"I'm Tom; Tom Riddle," he said stretching out his hand. She took it daintily and he could feel her shiver at the contact. He kept his eyes locked on hers, not letting her look away.

"G-Glory," she replied unevenly. It was really most unfitting, the name of a god shoved onto the shoulders of a frivolous child. He thought he knew her father, a ball of a man who worked for the Ministry. Tom had an eye for people; he stored them and their strengths for later usage each time he encountered someone.

"We've recently acquired a collection from Rome which has some lovely items. Very unique, we haven't seen some of these pieces for centuries. Care to look?"

The girl nodded, but she didn't seem to be listening, her eyes were trained on Tom's. He led her towards a table covered with a silver cloth. There were intriguingly shaped objects that Tom had spent hours with, figuring out their mysteries. He loved knowledge, lived on it. His thirst for information was more fervent than that for water, life's essence.

The girl glanced over the price tags, picking up a relatively inexpensive object.

"What does this one do?" she asked bluntly, her disinterest evident.

Tom was getting bored of her; she was pretty but not much more. And he hated it when people didn't appreciate a powerful entity.

"A fine choice, miss. That is an ancient Pongaton, used to taunt enemies by bursting an unpleasant scent at them at regular intervals. This one is set to dog feces. Elven-crafted and an excellent addition to any refined set." An ancient practical joke, really. Hardly worth the material of which it was made, but he wasn't going to tell her that.

She looked a little doubtful so he brushed past her, letting her absorb the contact and then threw his head back at her, making his hair dance and his eyes twinkle.

She melted.

He could see it, her knees shook a little, her eyes became hungry and lust played with her features. He lifted the corners of his mouth and she stopped thinking.

Before she knew it he had her at the counter, her purchase neatly wrapped and in a bag. She'd payed three times the asking price and was returning the change to her wallet before her brain started working again.

"Thank you for your purchase, I'm sure your father will enjoy it. It was a pleasure serving you, Glory," Tom said as he led her towards the door. He said her name like it was chocolate, rich and sensuous. _Glory_. Like she really was glorious. When he said her name, she wanted to die for him.

It wasn't until she was back on the street that she realised how ridiculous the item really was.

* * *

_Oh, our little Tommy boy is so manipulative. And so good looking. So, pretty much I wanted to paint the devestatingly handsome and charismatic young Tom. The Tom that you want because he's too dangerous to have. The Tom that needs only his eyes and a moment to take your breath away. The Tom that knows how to work himself for any advantage, 'cause he's smart like that. If Sirius Black is the bad boy then Tom is the evil boy. _

_Review? Please, please, if you liked it or hated it, I'd _love_ to know. Or just say hi, anything goes!_ - Lilian


End file.
